For reasons she couldn’t quite name, the eyes of Elena—who had been forcibly pulled outside by the man’s arm—began to regain their vitality.

Because he had been angry on her behalf.

Because she believed that he, at the very least, would look at her as a person.

Despite the word “force,” she followed him with utter submission.

Even so, she did not fully let down her guard. At first, she doubted him, wondering if he was simply using cruel words to coax her for his own convenience. Elena was suspicious of the man, and it didn’t take long for him to notice. She feared he might change in an instant—that his smile and kindness might be calculated favors, just like all the others. She harbored suspicion and could not hide her hostility.

Yet, despite this, Elena followed him. Excluding him, there was no longer any place for her to go. No home, no destination where she rightfully belonged existed anymore. Her mind was filled only with a forest that needed to be erased and the tangled roots of neglect and malice.

Elena had doubted the man.

‘…Nom.’

Rather, she had doubted him. She doubted him until she felt the subtle aroma of warm soup spreading through her mouth.

Tremble.

She doubted him until she felt the warmth of his hand grasping her own as she shivered from the cold. She doubted him until she saw his warm, “motherly” smile and felt the small kindnesses he bestowed upon her.

But that suspicion shattered so easily. It scattered like dust swirling in the air. Elena no longer doubted him. Everything about him—the man who first showed her kindness without asking for anything in return—was so warm and cozy.

He released her from her shackles, handed her food, and gifted her a warm place to sleep. It was a love she had never received even from her parents, a kindness she had never known from others. To the piteous Elf who otherwise would have lived her life bound by literal and metaphorical chains—to the Elf who had plummeted from a moment of darkness into an even deeper, bleaker abyss—this man was salvation.

In truth, the favors Keyal showed her weren’t particularly grand. He had enough capital, and he released her simply because he felt sorry for her. Because she viewed herself as a slave, he treated her like a normal person.

There really wasn’t much to it. He fed her, washed her, and let her sleep. Because she looked so pitiful shivering in the cold, he held her fidgeting hands once or twice. That was all.

That was all it was.

And yet, to the young Elf Elena, it was the hand of God. To an Elf who had intended to give up on everything, it was a heavenly mandate; he became the pillar that supported her mind. The man named Keyal became Elena’s entire life.

The broken Elf desired only two things:

Even if she were to be abandoned eventually, she wanted to be imprinted in her Master’s mind as a useful existence until the very end.

And she wanted to bleed herself dry to achieve that.

The Elf realized he was the leader of a fledgling guild.

…She recorded everything about him in a notebook: his sleeping, his eating, his trips to the bathroom, his washing, his lying down, the way he leaned on his pillow, and how he covered himself with a blanket.

She tolerated no gaps.

What hour, minute, and second he fell asleep.

What time he ate, and exactly how many grains of grain he consumed.

How many times he curled up, turned, or twitched from the moment he climbed under the covers until he woke.

How many times a day he breathed.

How many times a day he exhaled a visible breath.

How many times he… how many times he… how many times he… how many times he… how many times he… how many times he… how many times he… how many times he… how many times he… how many times he… how many times he… how many times he… how many times he… how many times he… how many times he… how many times he… how many times he… how many times he… how many times he…

Elena recorded every single detail.

She vowed she would do anything for him.

She vowed she could become anything for him.

Because of this, she could vaguely guess that he, the rookie guild leader, was recruiting heroes. Elena was the daughter of the Elven Chieftain; even if her past was stained, the evidence that she was born of that blood and lived as such could not be erased.

Once, she had wanted to tear these ears off her head, but not anymore. Every time they walked through the market and people stared at her master and herself—whispering and looking at him as if he were someone incredible for commanding a High Elf—Elena felt her heart throb with uncontrollable intensity.

Conversely, she always felt a sense of anxiety and impatience whenever they returned. Having lived as an Elf, her ability to use Spirit Magic remained unchanged. Furthermore, as the bloodline of the Chieftain—a High Elf—her magic was on a completely different level compared to ordinary Elves.

Recognizing this, she confessed to the man—who seemed to be struggling to find the words—that she wanted to be his “Hero.” The warmth of the smile he gave her while stroking her hair made her melt.

A full year passed.

From the perspective of an Elf who lives for centuries, it was a ridiculously short time. Yet to Elena, the events of the past year were far more special than the decades of meaningless life she had endured before.

That was because the past year consisted of the first days where she felt her life had value. Elena vividly recalled the grueling days she spent striving for him, her Master. To be of help to him, she polished her Spirit Magic to the extreme and honed her combat abilities. Even when exhausted and spent, she stood up again.

For that one person—the only person in this world—she could endure anything as long as she could be useful and necessary to him. She had to prove her worth. To stay by his side, she had to increase her value and grow to the point where it could be measured in points.

As long as she could remain by her Master’s side, even if he viewed her as a mere tool or like the “disgusting filth” of the world, she wouldn’t care. He, who had pulled her out of that pitch-black darkness, had already become her God—a being she had to serve, worship, and praise. He was her salvation and the driving force that allowed her to do anything.

It was deeper than pure affection and thicker than love.

If he wished, she could be his friend.

If he wished, she could be his parent or his child.

If he said he wanted it, she would gladly become his lover, his wife, or anything else.

If he desired it, she could become a paradise that embraced his everything.

Her devotion, which was already overflowing, and her love—thick, viscous, and clinging—raised the value of the High Elf named Elena.

So that he would not abandon her.

…Though even if she were abandoned, it didn’t matter. As long as she remained in his memory as a useful being, that was enough.

Or so she thought.

But then, Elena began to feel an insatiable greed. She did her best to stay by his side. She accepted everything about him. But because she loved him far beyond that, she—a creature carrying the blood of a “lowly and dirty monstrosity”—allowed a feeling to escape from the depths of her heart. A feeling that should never be noticed or felt by her Master, whom she should only revere: Love.

She was anxious. She, who prided herself on being perfect for him, began to wish for a single, overly extravagant dream.

To stay by his side and be loved by him.

To an outsider, that wish might seem modest, but in her mind, it was beyond presumptuous. She thought it was purely her selfish heart and greed manifesting. She, who was a mere tool of her Master and someone who should simply support and care for him until her usefulness ran out, had dared to think such a thing.

Crumpling where she stood, she clasped her hands and offered a prayer. She closed her eyes and looked up at the sky. It wasn’t a prayer to some god. It was an apology to herself—the believer who had fallen in love with her God, a forbidden love that could never be, yet a love she wanted to transcend.

She was praying to her Master.

‘Ah… ah, Master… Please forgive me, this lowly being, for having such hideous thoughts toward someone as great as you… and please understand… Please do not hate me for having no choice but to love you… You can treat me coldly, slap me, or trample me, it doesn’t matter… Just let me stay by your side… Give me a chance to be loved by you. I wish you would look at me with even a fraction of the fraction of the ardent love I have for you… Oh Master, my kind Master… My benevolent and merciful, kind Master… Even though you are drenched in Magi, you wear a gentle smile beneath it. Forgive me… and love me, little by little, slowly…’

Like a sinner, she knelt with her eyes closed, her face contorted in a pained expression. Perhaps the heavens were listening to her modest plea.

…And then, she—the Elf—was abandoned by the Master she loved so much.

The Master vanished in an instant. The scent of Magi, the traces of his presence—everything was gone. It was as if everything had been erased, a complete severance.

“Ah… a-ah… Mas… Master…?”

The Elf’s pupils shook violently.

Not a single trace of her Master could be seen. Not a single footprint of the Half-Demon, Keyal Klein, remained.

The very reason for her existence had disappeared.